


Endearments

by RainShadow07



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Jack/Team, Light Bondage, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 03:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainShadow07/pseuds/RainShadow07
Summary: Jack has different names for all of them. he can’t help it, they all feel so unique, flaring brightly in his mind’s eye.





	Endearments

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008, originally posted at rainshadowsfic.livejournal.com

Sometimes, when he’s fucking into Ianto, the man splayed out beneath him, Jack gets a little lost. Lost in his anguish, or lost in the wet look of Ianto’s eyes, sound fading out as he stares at him, pupils blown black and glassy. Ianto keeps his eyes open, knows that’s what Jack wants, needs, but when it gets to be too much for Ianto, he flings one arm across his face, the other hand grasping towards Jack, and sound floods back into the world. Jack can hear Ianto’s groans, in time with his thrusts, he can hear his own labored breathing, heart skyrocketing, beating in his ears, and Ianto will say “Jack, _please,_ ” and Jack will suddenly snap back into himself, easing off into slow, burning thrusts. He reaches out to grasp Ianto’s shoulder, push his arm away from his face, fingertips tracing his lips, and Ianto licks them. Jack moans, pushes in hard, drawing a corresponding moan from his lover. Ianto sucks two of Jack’s fingers into his mouth, deep as he can get, and Jack can _feel_ his moans as Ianto tries desperately not to gag on the fingers in his throat. Ianto’s eyes are impossibly dark, moisture leaking out the corners and back into his tousled hair.

And when Ianto cries “Jack, unh, please- Jack, _Jack!_ ” repeating his name like a prayer, Jack says, voice so low it curls in Ianto’s belly, hot heat, “shh baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, come for me, come for me baby.” Then Ianto will let out a low groan, clenching tight around him, and Jack grips his hair, tugs him up, their mouths meeting as Jack empties himself. All movement stops, there is only the double beat of hearts as they share breaths. Jack pulls slowly out, and Ianto brushes his palms against Jack’s cheeks, fingers curling over his ears and into his hair. Ianto kisses like he is drowning and Jack is his oxygen, and he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s maybe crying a little, but Jack doesn’t mind.

Eventually, Jack turns back the covers, climbs in. Holds open a space, says, “Ianto. C’mere, baby,” and Ianto snuggles into him with a sigh that some might mistake for fatigue but is in fact bliss. Jack never makes Ianto leave his bed.

-

Unlike Owen, who can be such a little bitch sometimes, and Jack will get so angry he’ll basically toss him out of his bedroom, clothing optional.

But the times when Owen cooperates, (mostly, it _is_ Owen) there’s no way Jack can lose himself in Owen the way he does with Ianto, cause he’s too busy making sure Owen doesn’t fly apart at the seams. Owen likes to push at Jack constantly, so it’s no surprise that he’ll shove Jack against walls, desks, shower doors. Their kisses are almost-violent, teeth clicking together, tongues sliding and tangling and _taking_. Owen takes, and takes, and it exhausts Jack, but, it’s worth it.

Worth it when he’s got Owen on his knees, finally shutting up his constant stream of abuse-love-hatred. Worth it when Owen’s back is arched up against his chest, straining and shaking, and Jack will suck bruises into his skin. Then Jack whispers into his ear, tongue licking at the curve of it, commands, “Break apart for me, lover,” and Owen does, he loses it, flies apart and it’s all Jack can do to keep the pieces gathered inside himself, til Owen remembers himself, dresses, tries to avoid meeting Jack’s eyes, but he can’t. Jack’s gaze burns it into him, it’s like Owen’s watching his mouth form the words. _“Lover,”_ Jack’s eyes say to him, _“I know you, lover.”_ It’s too much, and Owen flees in the face of it.

-

Jack’s got two names for Toshiko, one of ‘em’s nice and the other’s not so nice. Tosh loves them both. Tosh squirms a lot, and so Jack sometimes ties her wrists to the headboard of his bed, and after that, well, she still squirms, but she’s pretty fucking happy. Tosh is really loud, too, but Jack never gags her. He loves hearing her like that, all wild and uncontained. Jack thumbs and pinches her nipples with one hand, the other laying heavy and flat on her belly, moving down to grip her hip, holding her down as she’s writhing. She’ll spread her legs wide for him, begging, and that’s when Jack will start talking. Tosh likes that, too, his dirty talk, even if it can get a little disjointed.

“Yeah? Like that?” his large hands circle lower, pressing into her, ripping a moan out of her, more begging, “please Jack, please, fuck me” and Jack holds her hips bruisingly tight and licks into her, so warm and wet and willing, and Jack works at her, draws out her first orgasm, and she’s not even done shuddering through it when she’s begging for more, and that’s when Jack calls her his “little slut, my delicious little whore, such a naughty girl, so fucking bad, you want this?” he’ll growl, voice subvocal somehow, thrumming right through her. All she can do is nod, yes, yes, I am, please, yes, yours is what she’s saying, even if her lips don’t form the right words, but Jack knows, anyway. He’ll push into her, _finally!_ her groans say, and he agrees, and there’s so much liquid heat in her, and she’s pushing back, meeting him thrust for thrust, til her body arches off the bed, electric with it, and she screams “Jack!” and he unties her hands from the headboard and tangles her arms around his neck, pulls her up, close, so close, eyes shut so tight cause it’s so goddamn hot, she is, his little whore.

Her other name, Jack uses for after, when she’s trembling in his arms and sweaty, exhausted, speechless. “Hey, little girl,” he’ll say softly, tilting her chin up, checking her eyes for wounds, each time. He kisses her peach-smooth skin, tongues warm strokes up her neck, asks, “you okay, little girl?” and she’ll nod, and clutch his shoulders, and it will be okay.

-

Gwen likes it slow, with Jack at least, anyway. Slow, heat building up back and forth between them until it’s nigh unbearable. She smiles a lot, tips her face up to his, big bright eyes seeing in him and past him. Sometimes it’s like Jack isn’t even there and she’s lost inside her own head, but Jack doesn’t mind, cause sex with Gwen is simple, sweet, almost innocent in a way, almost like making love. Jack calls her “darlin’” in his mind but he doesn’t often say it to her.  
“Gwen,” he’ll say, so softly. “Gwen, darlin’” and she’ll look right into him then, eyes so wide, and they’re saying “love you, love you Jack,” and that should probably scare him, ‘cept it doesn’t, cause it’s Gwen, and it’s got to mean something when someone like Gwen loves you.

Jack loves looking at Gwen, her legs especially, and she’s so soft, softer even than Toshiko. Jack kisses his way down her chest, palming her breasts in his hands. Gwen wiggles, rolls him onto his back, climbs on top of him. She grabs his hands, kneads them into her breasts, pushes one down the curve of her hip, then lets go, head thrown back. She’ll ride him, and he’ll drink his fill, looking and looking at her as she comes and shakes and comes again. Jack’s rarely met women who can come as often as Gwen can, so he’s not taken aback by the way she pretty much passes out with barely time to lie down. Jack likes it though, cause then he can look at her some more, call her darlin’ and stroke her back, and laugh quietly to himself when she babbles in her sleep.

-

On the rare occasions Jack needs someone else to take control, and doesn’t go looking for it outside the team, Ianto’s the only one that he’ll even consider. Jack’ll sink onto the mattress, neck bowed, head down, his wrists cuffed to the bedpost as he tries to let go, forces himself to unload his guilt, his heavy responsibility, if only for a few moments. Ianto doesn’t speak much, just does what he can, teeth digging into the muscle of Jack’s shoulder, tugging at his nipples, nails scratching down his sides, slashing across his belly, one hand tightly gripping Jack’s cock. Ianto’s as rough as he can possibly let himself be, but it’s always best when Jack’s finally broken open and cursing and incoherent, “jesus, fuck yeah, Ianto, please- don’t stop!”

Then Ianto stops being so careful and just lets go, harsh and bruising and exactly what Jack needs, even if he sometimes hates himself a little for pushing Ianto like that. Ianto needs lots of reassurance afterward, mumbling to himself things like “god” and “love” and other words that catch at Jack’s heart. Ianto likes as much physical contact as possible, so he’ll drape himself over Jack, trace Jack’s features with fingers and eyes and mouth and it’s good, it’s so good, Jack’s just staring up at him, and sometimes they even fall asleep like that, and wake up curled around one another. The bed’ll be totally wrecked when they wake up, bottle of lube still uncapped, sheets hopelessly tangled and the handcuffs digging into his side, but, yeah, it’s good.


End file.
